When I was a young teenager, and crazy about a boy, I developed OCD.  The consequence of not doing the compulsion was that this boy would die.  I hated doing the compulsion so much that one day, I hit my limit and thought to myself "let him die".  I broke the OCD spell.  I was cured.  Fast forward to December 5, 1977 (today being the anniversary).  The boy I had a crush on at work asked me out.  I was 19 and this was a dream come true.  We dated and I felt very loved by him.  Due to both of us being exhausted one night, I wasn't up to the date and didn't wear a low cut top.  He thought I didn't want to be kissed down my neck and fell asleep on me.  I was convinced that he didn't like me anymore.  As I put my coat in my closet, I thought "that's okay, I don't like him anyway".  This was not true.  The next day I realized that that was a stupid thought but when I walked into work and saw him, he looked ugly and suddenly, I really didn't like him.  I fought that feeling but I couldn't stand his smell, his car, the music that we listened to, his coat.  I broke up with him.  I was so confused.  How did my feelings change like that?  I felt literally crazy and started counseling.  I just wanted my feelings back for this boy.  I started to self-punish.  I made myself think of a way to get my feelings back 24/7.  He was, by the way, devastated and I felt so guilty.  After that, full-on OCD hit me and I couldn't get over it.  It had consumed me.  I guess that was its purpose.  I couldn't get the feeling back that this boy loved me.  We eventually dated again but it was never the same.  We are friends on Facebook.  He doesn't know that I still suffer from OCD, albeit much less.  He was probably my only real love and if OCD didn't hit me, we may have gotten married.  That wasn't in the plan.